Sinking
by Daydreaming-with-ink
Summary: Drop Dead Fred. With Fred staying so close to home, Lizzie finds herself starting to pine for his company again. When she's granted his attentions at last, their interactions interfere with Fred's duty to help Natalie. What will the cost of his neglect be
1. Chapter 1

**One**

**I'm sorry, I seem to have a part of me stuck to you – I think it's my heart**

Lizzie feared she was no longer a rational woman.

But then again, had she _ever_ been able to claim that title?

It had been nearly four months since she'd bid Fred goodbye, and she was starting to feel every minute without him drag on for eternity. Never before had a person overturned so many aspects of her life. She'd been granted the strength to severe the bonds of her suffocating marriage; to break through her mother's barriers; to become open to any possibilities. After so many years of wishing, she'd been finally been given the one thing she'd needed: herself. She was no longer Elizabeth, the oppressed daughter of a megabeast; nor was she Snotface, the girl so wild she drove everyone away.

No, what she was now was lonely.

_I'm scared to be alone._ Hadn't she told him? Hadn't he seen it in her eyes, the sadness? Lizzie had a new job, a growing relationship with her mother, and _something_ happening with Mickey. So why did she still feel the need to glance behind her in the mirror, draw the shower curtains closed tight, leave a lamp on so he would not stumble in the dark? When she was unhappy, she pined for her imaginary friend. It had become a habit. It was not normal.

"You're a twenty-six year old woman; you don't have time to be crazy anymore," she told her reflection in a restaurant's bathroom mirror one afternoon. Janie exited her cubicle and came to wash her hands beside her friend. She followed Lizzie's eyes, glancing behind herself.

"You're still hoping?" she asked quietly, and Lizzie nodded.

"I can't help it."

"Honey," Janie took a breath to continue, but whatever she said was drowned out by the sounds of the hand dryer.

***

The little Catflap did not sleep.

It was not something he enjoyed watching, her desperate pleas for her father to stay a little longer. She would cry and throw her pillow and bunch her hair in her fists pleading, _just a bit more, just one more story_. Her father would yield, lying with her face pressed into his embrace until the moon was high enough to shine its light through the windows. When the call of his own bed was too strong to ignore he would tuck her hair behind her ear and leave her with the lamplight on, bidding her sweet dreams. That was when Fred returned, when she cried to him that she could not dream, that she could not sleep. It was a saddening sight, to see the little girl's eyes so heavy and tired, her body sagging but her mind wide awake.

He didn't know the exact reason she was so scared to sleep; she wouldn't tell him. He did know she needed distractions, needed to be so exhausted that she would succumb to sleep against her own will. That was when he arrived with games and toys and stories of cornflake monsters. She would huddle into his chest in the early hours of the morning, finally spent. He would hold her and try to shake the twinge of unhappiness he'd sometimes feel, his blue eyes alight as he watched her slip into a place he could not follow.

***

It had been a good day.

Lizzie's workload was starting to ebb with the arrival of summer. Her boss was eager to be home with a cool drink rather than in the stuffy studios, so she allowed Lizzie to set down her brush and head home early. Lizzie designed children's book covers, having discovered a love for art. She'd been so set on tearing things apart when she was young that it came as a surprise when she picked up a brush and felt only the need to create.

She was supposed to be going out with Mickey that night. So when the phone rang and she answered to his heartfelt apology, Lizzie was not surprised.

"It's all right, Mickey," she tried to placate him while setting down her mascara brush and abandoning the bathroom. She would not be going anywhere tonight. "I understand if you can't find a babysitter for Natalie." _And Fred_, she thought to herself, because he was obviously the bad influence. Little girls did not become wild cards on a whim. She was gathering the breath for a _good night_ when his voice cut across again.

"Would you like to come over anyway? We could watch movies. I'd just love to spend time with you."

She marvelled at his ability to weave the word _love_ into every conversation. She scratched the back of her neck, feeling simultaneously pressured and thrilled. Was that what affection felt like? Or was she simply conflicted? She couldn't remember such feelings with Charles. With him it had always been excitement – until he left her, anyway.

"Lizzie? Are you still there?"

She nodded, pointlessly. "Y-yes, Mickey."

"Yes as in you'll come over?"

"Yes, I'll see you soon."

She heard the smile in his voice as he said goodbye.

***

She could hear the house from down the street.

A news reporter was divulging the details of a car accident from a house's stereo somewhere down the road. Pulling into the driveway, Lizzie had to smile. The house was alive with the glaring of lights, the pulsing of the television and the shouts of a little girl. Nobody answered the door when she knocked, so she let herself in. The house was no messier than could be expected in a home with a single dad and a girl with a little too much imagination. The news reporter's voice had given way to commercials, and she clapped her hands over her ears, following the blaring noise to the living room.

"Ever heard of 'disturbing the peace'?!" She shouted over the din, finding Mickey bent over the TV set, fiddling with cords and buttons. When he didn't answer, she grinned and plucked the plugs from his ears.

"Lizzie!" Mickey yelled, surprised, "I'm sorry about this! Natalie's 'friend' messed with the stereo and now I can't get the volume down!"

She felt her heart clench for the briefest of seconds. Fred was here now. She hoped he would try to talk to her. Ever since she'd found him playing with Natalie, he had not made any attempt to contact her through the girl. She wondered why, ashamed that she should be envious of a child. A pure, heavy silence shocked her out of her ponderings. There was a triumphant shout from Mickey, and Lizzie shook her head to clear it of the ringing in her ears.

"Nice job," she said, "I thought the police would be showing up soon."

"The neighbours are pretty used to the craziness at this house. I'm sure they were giving me time to deal with the noise before they called."

From above them came the thumping of feet and the high pitched shouts of child's play. Lizzie knew Natalie didn't have any school friends. She wondered if Mickey could hear the evidence of his daughter's imagination, or if he simply pretended not to.

"Your hair's growing out again." Mickey offered a smile tinged with fondness as he set the television back in its place and headed for the stairs. "It's looking nice." He flicked the stairwell light on. "Natalie! Elizabeth is here!"

She unconsciously reached up to play with a strand of her hair, heading to the kitchen. "I brought popcorn," she announced as Mickey returned, his daughter hot on his heels.

"Hey Lizzie," Natalie said quietly, twisting a doll in her hands. "Want to play dolls with me? Fred won't; he says it's for girls."

Despite her feelings, she didn't have to force a smile as she set the bag of popcorn down on the counter.

"I'd love to Natalie, but your daddy and I are going to watch a movie. Do you want to sit with us?"

The little girl worried her lower lip and wrung the doll's hair gently. To anyone else she'd appear to be thinking, but Lizzie knew that look. The girl was not thinking; she was listening. To Fred.

"No it's all right; I'll go back upstairs." Mickey patted his daughter's hair tenderly as she passed him, heading for the stairs. He was no longer watching her but over his shoulder called, "You're not playing Electric Barbie again, Natalie. Put the extension cord down."

Lizzie smiled as the little girl sighed and ceased to pull the cord from behind the television cabinet.

As she disappeared up the stairs, Mickey ran a hand through his hair and closed his eyes. "I know she's just going through a phase, but I'm starting to worry, Lizzie." They moved toward the lounge room and sank onto the couch. When he didn't try to sit so close their legs touched, she patted his arm worriedly.

"Is she still not sleeping?"

Mickey sighed, the breath of unease like a trail of smoke. "Barely. Sometimes she's still awake when I leave her and I feel terrible but…I'm just _so_ tired…" he scraped his hands down his face, bowed in shame. "I hate leaving her alone. Did you see her dragging her feet? She doesn't realise it, but she's fading, Lizzie. I don't know what to do." She was hugging him now, staring at the silent television, praying for answers. "I think…I think it's _his_ fault."

She stiffened. "His?"

"Her friend. I think he keeps her awake. Or maybe…she's scared to be alone with him when I leave. I think that's why she stays up. Lizzie…I have to get rid of her imaginary friend."

Protectiveness blossomed in her chest like a peony. Fred would _never_ do anything to upset a child. She tried to remember how it had felt, the day he'd gone. She imagined it to feel like a tearing in her heart, like her world had shattered. But it had been a subtle death for her emotions. She'd sighed, and her childhood had disappeared in a breath.

"Mickey, you can't. You can't take him away from her. You'll make it worse." She was so filled with loyalty she had no room for long sentences. "Promise you won't; please."

"I – I don't know what else to do, Lizzie."

"There's got to be something else. We'll find a way."

He saw on her face the same desperation that Natalie showed when he bid her goodnight. "You win, Lizzie. I'll find another way," he said, if only to feel her Thankyou kiss on his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

**Two**

**A Short and Early Intervention - We all have secrets, don't we?**

"Hey, Catflap. Are you going to tell me what's going on now?"

Natalie shook her head fiercely to dislodge the urge to spill the beans. She couldn't tell Fred. He'd call her gross and say he was disappointed. He might even leave. She couldn't stand that. No, it was better not to tell. "Another story, Fred? Please?" This was becoming a matter of grave importance. She would not sleep. Not until he'd expended every ounce of energy from her, until he'd told so many stories his tongue was parched and her head would surely be swimming. He was running out of games to play, and _that_ was saying something. Her father wasn't aware that when he left she was still awake. He didn't know of the minimal hours she spent sleeping.

They were not even the fitful rests of a bad sleeper: she did not fidget or kick out or whimper under closed eyelids. She'd lie completely still, as if death had taken possession of her body. Her mouth would be down turned, her breath defeated. She barely had the energy to fill her lungs. In the mornings, he watched as Mickey loathingly woke her for school. Who could deprive a child of the precious few hours they had to rest? Yes, it was becoming an emergency. And he could not tell anyone. She'd made him promise. Their hours were secrets to be kept deep in the heart. Even if he needed to, how would he? He could not reach out to anybody.

In this respect, he was useless.

He may as well have been a ghost.

***

Lizzie had a secret.

She could be selfish.

She could say she wanted Natalie to be better, and mean it. But there was an undercurrent beneath the well-wishing: she was more anxious to keep Fred around for herself.

***

Fred had two secrets to keep.

The first was that Natalie wouldn't let him tell anyone about her sleeping problem after her dad left for the night. The second was all his own. It was more an unsettling feeling than anything else. Whenever he wasn't around Natalie, he just couldn't shake the feeling that he'd left in the middle of something important to be with her. He would be dragging piles of mud onto the lounge, or gluing the chairs in Natalie's classroom to the floor and a moment of unease would strike him – he'd have to smack his forehead for the niggling feeling to go away. _You've forgotten_, it would say, _don't you remember?_

What kind of question was that?


	3. Chapter 3

**Three **

**Oh There You Are**

Polly wished – not for the first time that week – that nothing had changed between them. Elizabeth had forced her mother to face the facts: she was not a woman with a lot of love in her life. Now that their relationship had started to flow a different course – a path with hugs and encouragement and lunches that were not completely painful – Polly realised she was only half the woman she thought she'd been. Whenever her daughter came asking for advice, Polly would suppress a resentful shudder with the realisation that she had little truth to share. The only knowledge she possessed was about keeping a hold over the people in her life. Now Elizabeth was free, free to teach her own mother a few things about starting again. It would take time, however. A lifetime of resentment could not be washed over in a few months.

"I'm sorry I'm late, mother," Lizzie apologised, sliding into her seat at their regular café. "I was at Mickey's all morning and had to rush home to get ready."

Polly's eyebrow arched with intrigue. "All morning with Michael Bunce? What were you doing?" She couldn't help the bitter pronunciation of his surname. The man was nice…persistent…but she couldn't forget the way he'd encouraged Lizzie's imagination as a child and then again earlier that year. She did, however, thank him for the soft pink glow that his name brought to her daughter's cheeks.

"Actually…I spent the night," Lizzie admitted sheepishly, organising her handbag on the floor. "We were just going to watch a movie or two, but then I stayed late to help him get his daughter to sleep."

"What's her name again? Nadine?"

"Natalie." She sighed, recalling as the girl's filly eyes had darted around the dark room, asking that Lizzie stay upstairs just a little longer. "I don't know what to do for them. She won't sleep, no matter how long Mickey stays up with her. He seems to think –" she swallowed the words, too late, to keep their story safe inside.

"What does he think?"

Lizzie couldn't mention Drop Dead Fred again, because Polly didn't _know_ he was the one who'd helped their relationship. She still didn't trust her mother with anything regarding Fred. Faith was not an easy thing to restore.

"He just thinks it has something to do with her not having any friends."

"Oh, that's ridiculous Elizabeth. Why would a little girl stay awake because she has no friends?" But Polly thought of the nights after Nigel had left her, when she would lie awake in bed with nothing but her own shadow for company and see the question on the ceiling. _How can being alone keep a grown woman awake?_ "Elizabeth." There it was, at the edge of her voice – the faint remainder of the megabeast. "I know when you're lying to me. What does Michael really think?"

_That it would be best to separate a little girl from her only friend; that I'm trying to help, when I really just want Fred to stay for __**me. **_

Just thinking about it made Lizzie's skin itch with shame. "Uh, you know, mother, I just remembered I have a cover to finish before Thursday. I'll have to see you some other time."

"Eliza –"

"I'll call you tomorrow about it." She grabbed up her bag and pressed an awkward kiss to her mother's forehead. "Goodbye."

Polly sat alone for a while longer afterwards and tried to pull apart the possibilities of the problem her daughter would not admit to.

***

Someone was tugging at her shoulder, and it was very annoying.

"Natalie? Natalie, are you paying attention?"

Without looking up from the table, she shrugged the hand off. "Fred, piss off."

"Natalie Bunce, what have I told you about using that word?"

Now the girl did glance fearfully up. Woops. It wasn't her friend; it was Miss Crotty. Her teacher's eyebrows were scrunched together and her mouth was one big frown, but she didn't look mad. That was what Natalie liked about Miss Crotty – she gave her a candy bar at snack time when she found her sitting alone in the playground; she made sure Natalie got the pink cushion at nap time and she hardly ever yelled at her. She was too busy calmly asking why the girl felt the need to let the class hamster loose in the teacher's lounge, or shaking her awake again during arts and craft.

"I'm sorry Miss Crotty," Natalie yawned and continued gluing her coloured toothpicks together to make two people. One was pink with a yellow head, the other green with a red head. Miss Crotty watched from a distance as the girl's head tilted to the side, concentrating. "Yes Fred," she murmured, "This one here is you. No, I don't think gluing them to Jennifer's back would be a good idea." Nevertheless, Natalie grinned at the thought.

***

Fred raced along on his bicycle with the wind ruffling his ridiculous hair. Natalie tried desperately to keep up, her feet pedalling like mad as she strained forward on her trike, blonde braids flailing behind her.

"Fred!" she shouted, "Wait for me!"

They roared down the street, Fred grinning with victory as he rounded a corner.

"Come on Catflap; it's Wheel Tiggy! You're supposed to catch me!"

He was going a little too fast and had to swerve madly to avoid hitting the curb. Natalie started to lag behind, her legs aching and her chest heaving with exertion. She yawned, exhausted from trying to keep up. Fred turned a blind corner and had to throw himself to the side of the road as headlights came rushing toward his face.

"Watch it, no-brain!" he yelled, collecting himself from the gutter. The car was already rounding the corner. The corner with a hedge concealing anything on its other side. Concealing any_one_.

"Catflap!" he cried, racing toward the hedge just as he caught sight of the little girl's eyes dripping closed. "Natalie!" she heard her name and looked up, just in time to see the car screech to a halt and a green blur drag her down into the gutter. There were arms holding her tight, and there was warm breath on her shoulder. She looked up to find Fred cradling her.

"I fell asleep," she murmured, abashed. He stroked her hair and said nothing, inspecting the grazed skin on her leg, shoulder and cheek. She was bleeding, shaking, but she was alive.

"_Now_ can we tell someone about this sleeping thing?" he asked.

***

Natalie was fine – Mickey Fartpants had taken her to the cinema.

According to the six year old, movies and ice cream were the only things that would help her to feel better, despite the doctor's reassurance that all she needed was some antiseptic cream and Band-Aids. And she still wouldn't let her secrets spill. Fred threw a clump of dirt at the washing on the line from his position on the grass. He was managing only to spatter Mickey's clothes. If Catflap tried to blame him later on, he'd say the neighbour's dog had gotten into the yard. She'd believe anything Fred told her, for example if she pulled apart her dad's best jacket the threads would come to life and do what she told them. He grinned at the memory and plucked at the grass below him. A sharp summer breeze kissed his cheeks and made his fringe dance. The dark sky was heavy with stars, winking in and out of existence like fireflies. He should have felt relaxed, but he was wound tighter than a spring.

The nagging feeling was driving him crazy.

Fred felt a guilt he couldn't account for, as if he had abandoned a prior engagement to be here flinging mud and being reckless. He barely registered the beginnings of a head ache, unaccustomed as he was to their throbbing pain. He massaged his temples and squeezed his eyes shut. Something was begging for his attention; something out there needed to be put right. Suddenly the summer air was not so comforting and the stars were bright enough to burn his retinas. He took a shaky breath, palms sweating as they came up to press into his clammy face.

"Piss _off,_" he grumbled emphatically to nobody. Gravity was bearing down on him, tugging at his body. He threw his head back and as his body hit the grass a blinding light erupted around him. This brought with it the feeling of falling, of vertigo settling over him. He couldn't grab hold of anything to steady himself. His own voice lingered in the air. _You're not happy,_ it whispered.

When he opened his eyes with a start, he was no longer in Natalie's back yard.

The grass was now carpet, the sky concealed by a pale ceiling. Fred felt the coarse fibre of a rug beneath his cheek and sat up. He was flooded with déjà vu, looking around the modern apartment. Everything from the walls that didn't quite reach the roof to the black leather couch all seemed vaguely familiar as his feet brought him to a room at the end of the hall. He itched to make an incredibly loud noise, having not said anything for over three minutes, but he bit his tongue. Upon entering the room, he was swallowed by colour. Every wall was a different shade of blue lined with shelf upon shelf of paint tins, brushes and books. Each resource was stacked meticulously in order, from creamy beige to rose pink. He hated to see it all looking so organised, and wondered what would happen if he started kicking the cans around. He was struck with a powerful sense of being _in the right place_ as a woman strode the length of the room towards an easel in the corner, where painted images of a puppy at the beach sat unfinished.

There was an evident calmness in every part of her: from the gentle slouch of her shoulders and the soft slip of a mouth to the grace of her falling ebony hair and patient hands. Fascinated, Fred shivered as she unknowingly brushed his shoulder, unable to see. She sat upon a stool and lifted a brush to the paper, filling in the puppy's outline with brown. The contact brought warmth to his cheeks, a grin to his lips, and suddenly the memories of who she was. His chest swelled with pride.

"Snotface," he whispered, and no nickname had ever been uttered so tenderly. He hovered over her shoulder, watching the stroke of her brush on the paper. Here she was, his little Snotface, finally happy and painting and smiling with tears running down her – _tears?_

He saw the first slide and the second come to rest under her chin. She was crying like a typical girly girl, but she was still smiling. He scratched his head in bewilderment. If only he could ask her what the problem was.

"Drop Dead Fred; I can you see, in case you're wondering."

Lizzie was laughing now, so soft it felt like feathers in his ears. He grinned maniacally.

"Oh, so that's what's wrong with you!" He flicked her nose, and she set her brush down and swivelled on the chair to face him. "I thought you'd be happy to see me," he sniffed, feigning indignation. He folded his arms and glanced away. Her hug ran through ever fibre of his being, her hands wrapping tight around his body and her mouth pressing a chaste, clumsy kiss to his cheek.

"I couldn't be happier that you're here," she told him.

"Eww! Yuck! You're still giving out those disgusting girl kisses are you?" He wiped his cheek and wriggled free from her embrace, feeling flushed under his jacket as recalled the last touch of lips they'd shared.

"Not to everyone," Lizzie replied, beaming.

"What about Mickey Fartpants?"

She faltered. "No, Fred. Not Mickey."

"But I thought you _loved_ him." Fred poked out his tongue. "Catflap tells me all about how you come over nearly every night –"

"Catflap?"

He looked at her as if she was stupid. As if she should have known that every child had a nickname. "Come on Snotface, catch up! Catflap. Natalie."

"And _why_ is she called Catflap?"

"We were grounded one afternoon for making pants pie in the living room and old father Fartpants said he was going to work and that we had to stay inside all day. _All _day! When we couldn't get out, Natalie crawled through the cat flap." His face lifted in a fond smile. Lizzie felt a twinge of envy that it wasn't herself in his memory. "She was too big. She was stuck for twenty minutes until the Nanny found her!" he chuckled.

Aiming to steer the conversation to a place where she didn't feel neglected, Lizzie patted his arm and looked at him imploringly.

"Did you miss me Fred?"

He thought of the times he would hang upside down for hours in Natalie's room and not sleep a wink, trying to shrug the feeling that he was missing something.

"As if! I have a life away from you, you know. I'm the wild-eyed loner. I had important imaginary friend business to attend to: dolls to eat, carpets to terrorise, cookies to…" he tried to think of any activities that had _not_ stemmed from thoughts of her, but couldn't.

"You did." She was grinning smugly.

"Well…" he drew out the word, contemplating the situation. "It wasn't that I didn't miss you, Snotface. It was that I didn't know I was supposed to. Unless I make a connection with a child, I completely forget them when I move on." Lizzie could guess at where he was headed. She'd felt their bond with every beat of her heart. She'd wanted him to be her friend for life. "Because I'd had to come back and help free you from the megabeast, I couldn't forget. I felt like I'd left something behind."

"But that doesn't explain why you're here now."

He suddenly turned on his heel and left the room without a word, marching down the hall. Lizzie hurried to follow, biting back a grin. _I've missed this. _Fred seemed to be looking for something, craning his neck and chewing on his lip. He got down on his hands and knees and crawled around on the carpet.

"Aha!" There, wedged into the wall and carpet, was something small and green. He picked it up and presented his palm to her, beaming: it was a pill. "You missed one," he explained. "So you didn't get rid of me after all! Ha!"

Lizzie stared at the pill as if it were a bloodied knife. It was the last lingering reminder of her betrayal: she'd willingly given up a man who could help her for the one who'd done nothing but cause damage.

"But you left because you said I was ready," she replied, plucking the pill from his hand and washing it down the sink. _Good riddance_, she thought, watching it circle the drain.

"Ah." Fred's brows furrowed. As quick as his features had sharpened in thought, they widened with realisation two seconds later. "It wasn't the goodbye pill. It's because you need me again."

Lizzie pondered this, leaning back into the cool metal of the sink's edge. _Need_ him? She'd missed him, yes, but that was only because she sometimes felt lonely. She missed his company for the innocence it entailed – he never wanted anything from her, not like Mickey. Was she that unhappy again? And could he really sense it? Fred grasped her chin in his fingers and squashed her mouth so that it formed a frown. "You're unhappy again, Snotface. You might never get rid of me! As long as you're all miserable and alone, I'll keep being pulled back." She reached out and cupped his own chin in her hand, squashing his mouth into a smile. His eyes followed her with amusement.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," she replied.


	4. Chapter 4

**Four**

**One Worn Down, One Torn Up**

From their vantage point the city was nothing but a landscape of glittering lights.

Elizabeth felt the night air toying with her dress and leaned further into the railings to keep the material from flying around. She and Fred stood surveying the city from the roof of her apartment block, spitting over the edge every now and then to see whose could fall faster. As she won again Fred pulled a face and began to tickle her.

"That's completely unfair; you're cheating!" he complained while she shoved his hands away. He marvelled at the way her laughter rode the wind all the way up into the sky. Snotface had always had a fantastic laugh.

"_You're_ the one who cheated," Lizzie argued lightly, "Serves you right to lose, you cry-baby."

His hands fell away. _"I am __**not **__being a cry baby, Fred!" she yelled one night when he got fed up with waiting for her to sleep. _Guilt settled over his features, dragging the mirth from his eyes. "Catflap."

"Hmm?"

"I forgot about her."

The worry in her normally rambunctious friend's eyes made Lizzie feel a little helpless. "You've brought me back again, Snotface. Back to you, but away from Natalie." He surprised her by placing his warm hand over hers, willing her to understand. "Elizabeth." She held her breath at the use of her full name. "It'd be brilliant to stay and rub poo into the megabeast's carpet again…but Catflap needs me." Where had this serious Fred emerged from? Lizzie didn't think that Natalie's sleeping problem was _so_ bad it would engulf him too.

"What for?"

He steeled himself. He'd been brought to the only other person in the world who could see him. Surely that meant he was supposed to break his promise to Natalie?

"I'm not supposed to tell, because she doesn't want anyone to worry." _Or to ask for the truth_, he thought to himself. _Why is she so afraid to tell me the reason? _"But she's not here to stop me!" he continued, wild eyed once again. "When that big girl of a dad Mickey leaves her at night, he thinks she's finally gone to sleep. But she hasn't! She's still completely awake and I spend all night playing games with her until she _does_ go to sleep."

The pieces were falling into place, Lizzie pondered. No wonder the girl was so dead tired she'd fallen asleep at the wheel of her tricycle that day.

"Fred…" she ventured softly, "Has Natalie told you why she can't sleep? It's not good for her, staying awake like this."

He turned away from the edge of the building and wandered aimlessly around the rooftop. His spirit threatened to deflate, but his pride wouldn't let it. He was Drop Dead Fred. He'd _never_ admit defeat.

"What are you, stupid? Of _course_ I know it's bad for her. But I'm _helping_," he argued, gesturing animatedly with his hands. "If I don't spend time with her she just sits there fidgeting and crying like a girl all night!"

"She _is_ a girl, Fred. She's a tired little girl. Maybe you should let Natalie sort things out for herself for a little while."

"What are you talking about?"

"Well…it sounds to me like you're spending every second with her. Maybe you're distracting her from sorting out whatever it is that keeps her awake."

Hypocrisy was not a colour that looked good on her. She'd fought tooth and nail with Mickey over a period of days to keep him from banning Natalie's involvement with Fred. He'd relented on that first night, but his decision had begun to waver. Now that Fred was visible and tangible she couldn't resist straining to catch the whispered promise of fun that lingered with his presence. The small grain of unhappiness embedded in her heart was starting to spread its poison through her whole body: she was being selfish and she was becoming a liar. She kept secrets from her mother and stole imaginary friends from little girls. She hoped Fred would just ignore what she'd proposed, but it was too late – she'd sewn the seeds and now she'd have to watch them grow.

Fred could barely keep track of his thoughts. He usually didn't have to think so hard about _anything_, yet here he was trying to decide who of his friends needed him the most. He kicked at a decrepit flower pot and watched the dry soil spill along with the remains of a flower. Nobody would care – it looked as if the rooftop garden had been abandoned a long time ago. _Abandoning her_. That's what he'd be doing if he left Natalie alone at night. He looked up finally and Lizzie turned around under the force of his gaze.

"Do you…do you really think it'd help if I left her alone?" he asked feebly.

She folded her arms around herself, a safeguard against the pain of inner conflict. "It can't hurt to see," she answered, "Just for a week or so, at night."

He let out a long, tired breath. All this worrying was making him feel like a stupid old man. "What am I going to do while I'm away from her?"

She motioned for him to follow her to the door, drawing close to his side.

"I'll have to stay with you, Snotface," he said, ducking into the doorway.

"I guess you will," she answered casually, as if she hadn't been thinking of this the entire time.

***

The silence in the room was so thick it sounded like a humming in her ears.

Natalie threw back the covers and crawled to the end of her bed.

"Fred?" she whispered, the word falling into the shadows with no reply. "Fred? You can come out now." The tree outside the window cast a menacing shape on the wall, like fingers reaching out to grab her in the night. Natalie shivered and hung upside down to see underneath the bed. She was met with no monsters, no flame haired man in a green suit – just dusty carpet and a few scattered dolls. She slipped from the bed and tiptoed towards the window, where she drew the curtain shut and stood wondering at the silence.

For the first time in weeks, her friend was nowhere to be seen.

***

They sat eating lunch on the deck of Janie's new houseboat.

Lizzie could understand why her friend had opted to keep living on the water – there was something infinitely calming about the knowledge she was being buoyed along, supported, in every part of the home.

"Okay, what _is_ that?" Janie burst out, as if the question had been building up inside her. "You've got something on you, I can feel it."

Lizzie's hand swept the front of her dress, her mouth. "Have I got crumbs everywhere?"

"I'm serious Lizzie, there's something different about you," Janie said over her salad sandwich. "It's like there's this big positive glow all around you. Did something happen with Mickey?"

"No," Lizzie answered slowly, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You've been walking around with a spring in your step all morning. Are you going to let me in on the secret?"

She shrugged, squashing the remains of her lunch into its wrapping. "I just met up old with an old friend last night, that's all."

When she gave no further explanation, Janie's suspicion rose. "And?"

"And what?"

"Well, who is it?"

"Just an old friend, Janie. From school."

But as they dusted crumbs from their clothes and stood up, Janie caught the smile that flitted across her friend's face, lighting her from within. "I'm sure," she muttered.

***

Mickey welcomed the zombie that was his daughter into the kitchen.

"Good afternoon sleepy head," he said gently, laying down his paper. The clock had just struck one as Natalie dragged her herself toward the table and sank into the chair. "Lucky it's Saturday, huh? You can sleep all you like."

She blinked at him, and then looked in the direction of the fridge.

"How about peanut butter and jelly sandwiches?" he asked. She nodded and sat like a statue while her father prepared lunch, following his movements without much interest.

There was a loud bell chime behind her, and Drop Dead Fred's voice fell over her shoulder.

"Haven't you had lunch yet, Catflap? Tell Fartpants to hurry _up_! We can't play Bury the Tools out in the yard if you're in here stuffing your face!" He sat on the table in front of her. Natalie glared at him. Her eyes were filled with tears waiting to fall, her fists bunched tight to show him the strength of her disappointment. Fred swallowed the guilty lump in his throat. He'd hoped she would welcome his return but at the same time feared she'd react this way.

Mickey slapped the bread slices together and slid the sandwiches onto her favourite purple plate. He heard the murmurings of conversation, and listened while he poured milk into her cup.

"No, I didn't sleep," his daughter said, her words laced with the ache of betrayal.

"I know you didn't," Mickey answered, but she didn't seem to hear him. She carried on in a heated whisper while he cleaned up and sat down to hand her the lunch.

"I needed you," she said sadly, "And you weren't there."

This startled Mickey. Had he not spent _every _night by her side for the past few weeks?

"Honey, what more can I do?" His hand reached out to cover her ineffectual fist and she flinched, surprised, as if she hadn't even known he was there.

***

"All right, so _why_, exactly, are you Miss Miserable this time?"

It took all of Lizzie's self control not to jump as Fred appeared beside her. He scowled when she didn't scream – it was like a game, trying to get adult Snotface to look like a loony in public. She was getting too good at pretending to be normal. Or, he thought with despair, maybe she _was_ normal.

Lizzie glanced around, making sure nobody in her work studio was within ear shot.

"I need to finish –"

"Can't hear you," Fred interrupted in a sing-song voice, "Speak up or I'll tickle you! Imagine how you'd look then!" He leaned against her easel and wriggled his fingers menacingly. Lizzie felt her mouth turn dry at the prospect of Fred's hands on her. So that she wouldn't belie this impromptu reaction, she kept her lips firmly shut and reached for a piece of scrap paper. Having written the note, she pretended to drop it on the floor so that he could read it and returned to her painting.

_I have two more pages to finish. What did I tell you about coming to work? _

As Fred read it he pulled a face and scrunched the paper up, throwing it over his shoulder and hitting a woman in the back.

"Why can't I visit you at work?" he asked, the same time the woman picked up the paper and looked enquiringly at Lizzie.

"Lizzie? If you want my attention you can just call, you know."

"I was just joking around Katie, sorry," Elizabeth replied, smiling. Hiding her face behind her easel again she gave Fred a look that said _**that's**__ why._

"Well Catflap's gone to bed; it's not my fault you're working late and I'm bored. Bored! It is _not_ a good idea to let me get bored, Snotface."

"Don't I know it," she murmured.

"So while I'm standing here doing absolutely nothing because you won't let me touch anything, I suppose I should help you figure out what your problem is so I can get back to where it _isn't_ boring."

Lizzie knew better than to let Fred's words get under her skin. He'd say or do anything to keep himself entertained, including trying to wrestle a public outburst from her. She kept her face calm and her voice patient, knowing this would irk him.

"Good luck because I'm not actually miserable, Fred. I just missed you."

"But if you're unhappy every time I'm gone, I'll never be able to leave!"

_Exactly_, she thought. "I thought you liked spending time with me."

He was fiddling with his buttons and scuffing his shoe on the floor. "I do," he muttered, _I'm just worried I like it too much._ "Are you nearly done yet?"

"Last page, then we can get out of here."

"We?"

Fred grinned at someone behind her. Lizzie rolled her eyes and turned around to find Katie. "Do you know you've been talking out loud, Lizzie?"

"She was talking to _me_, no-brain!" Fred exclaimed, "Piss off!"

Lizzie had the good sense to look embarrassed. It did not seem like a smart idea to act as if talking to herself was natural. Yes, she'd done it around Mickey and her mother, but she couldn't afford to mess up her work life again.

"Was I?" she laughed softly, "I guess the heat's getting to me."

"Maybe you should go home early; I'm sure Marge will understand."

Lizzie met eyes with Fred and her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Another whole night of fun with her friend was waiting.

"You know, I think I will. Thanks, Katie."

As she packed up her things Fred bounced around the room, rambling about what they could do next.

"Freedom!" he shouted, racing to the door. "Sweet freedom! Come on Snotface! The neighbourhood won't terrorise itself! I saw some dogs in the park this afternoon that we could stir up!"

"What makes you think they're still there?" Lizzie asked once they were alone. She let them into the elevator and grinned, watching as he paced back and forth, too excited to stand still.

"Who cares? It was just an idea. Stop thinking sensibly, Snotface." Fred tapped her on the forehead. "That's what you need me for, I think. To get that brain of yours to shut up so you can have a little fun."

The elevator doors ground open and Fred made a dash for them. Lizzie stooped to grab at some papers that were slipping from her folder and when she straightened, collided with him. She caught the scent of sugar cookies and mud while they stood tangled in awkward silence.

"Fun, huh?" Lizzie murmured.

Fred's skin flushed the same colour as his hair. "Yes. Fun." His voice was sharp enough to hide his embarrassment. He hastened toward the doors and wiped his cheek, as if she'd kissed him.

***

She was avoiding him.

The thought traced circles in his head until the words lost all meaning, until a throbbing pain began to pulse in his temple. Mickey set his coffee down and watched the steam rise from the mug, unable to stomach it. The bitter scent reminded him too much of the feeling of rejection. Lizzie had not called in on him for nearly two weeks. She didn't answer when he rang, and wasn't there when he tried to visit. What was occupying so much of her time that she couldn't even drop in to see how Natalie was? Didn't she care that neither he nor his daughter slept more than four hours in a day? He'd taken Natalie to a psychiatrist, hoping that maybe she would open up to a woman. He _had_ been counting on Lizzie's help in that respect, but she seemed to be missing-in-action. Four sessions and three hundred and fifty dollars later, Natalie would still not say a word about her nightmares.

He spotted his daughter playing in the back garden, and wandered onto the porch to watch her. At first he thought she was pulling out only the weeds but then her hand stretched towards the sunflowers and he cringed. He hated yelling at her and they were only the sunflowers that had sprouted from loose seeds so he bit his tongue and let her play. Her fists curled around the stem of the flower, preparing to snap it, but at the last moment Natalie let her hand fall away. Maybe she wasn't the menace everyone thought after all. She was just his misguided little girl, with too many thoughts running through her head. Just like her father. _Forget Lizzie_, Mickey thought, _I can take care of her myself. I have been for the past six years._ He felt weight hanging from his jeans and was surprised to find he'd been standing with his eyes closed. Natalie hung from his pants, her toothy grin feint with exhaustion.

"Hey sweetie," he said, tenderly brushing her fringe from her eyes. She started to climb up his leg, laughing. "What are you doing?"

"I want a piggy back ride Daddy," Natalie announced, and Mickey obliged. She was getting far too big for it to be a long ride, but this was the most energy she'd shown in the past couple of days and he'd be damned if he was going to let it pass by. He knelt and waited for her to clamber onto his back, wincing as her nails dug into his shoulders.

"Ready?" he asked, using his arms to support her legs so she wouldn't fall.

"Uh-huh," Natalie replied, squeezing her feet into his sides. "Giddy up!"

He felt the feather-light brush of her hair as she pressed her face into the back of his neck, and the day's worries dissipated like the steam from his coffee mug. They cavorted in circles on the back lawn, laughing at the sky when Mickey lost his balance and they tumbled to the ground.

"Are you all right?" he asked around a warm smile, rolling onto his back. Natalie nodded, the summer's heat producing a sweat on her brow. She yawned and flattened herself into his side, content to stay in the heap they were.

"Sweetie, can I ask you something?"

"What, Daddy?"

"Why didn't you rip up the sunflowers like you were going to?"

A shadow fell over the girl's face, but it was internal and nothing to do with clouds over the sun.

"Because Fred kept telling me to pull them out and I wanted to make him mad so I ignored him."

Mickey followed the way her shoulders turned inwards with anger, and smoothed his thumb across her cheek. "Why did you want to make him mad?"

She didn't look up. "It doesn't matter. It worked." She pointed in the direction of the flower bed. Mickey was unsettled to find that all the sunflowers had been torn from their stems and ground into a broken yellow mess, seemingly of their own accord.


	5. Chapter 5

**Five**

**So Close to the Edge of Something**

She was doing her best to ignore him.

"Snotface, wake up. Snotface. Snotface. _Elizabeth_."

Lizzie mumbled incoherently and rolled away from Fred, only to find him waiting for her on the other side of the bed. She groaned and pulled the sheets tighter around herself.

"Fred, do you _know_ what time it is?"

"It's 'wake up and talk to Fred' time, Snotface."

"It's 'go away I'm hot and I'm exhausted' time, _Fred._"

He moodily wrenched the sheets off her and disappeared without another word. Feeling only a little guilty, Lizzie sighed and rolled back into the middle of the bed, her eyes drifting shut. The three-beat melody of a bell resounded in the room, and a weight settled next to her. Sure enough, when she opened her eyes Fred was there. He lay on his back with his hands clasped firmly against his chest, his eyes searching the ceiling for answers she couldn't seem to see.

"Catflap's mad at me," he stated quietly, making eye contact. "What should I tell her?"

_That Lizzie is a selfish – _"I…uh…"

It was hard to think with him in such close proximity, his eyes imploring her for guidance, his body curving toward her in the confines of the bed.

"She doesn't realise I'm helping her," he said, his hands coming to rest between them. His fringe brushed against her forehead as his head sunk further into the pillow. Lizzie was trying to remember to breathe. It had never bothered her before, being this close to Fred. It had always been part of their friendship. "Uh, Fred, ever heard of personal space?"

"I'm your imaginary friend, Snotface. There's no such thing as _personal space_." He spat the words out as if they tasted of something rotten and wriggled closer to emphasise the point. "Come on, tell me what to do."

_Bring your lips down a little closer_, she was thinking.

_Tell me to stop,_ Fred was pleading as his body seemed of its own accord to seek further contact with hers. His fingers inched closer and brushed Lizzie's.

"She said she didn't sleep," he continued, because ignoring their current situation was easier than anything else.

"Give her another few nights," Lizzie murmured, "She'll forgive you. Nobody can stay mad at Drop Dead Fred for very long."

She could have been talking about the rain patterns in Iceland for all the listening he was doing. He was concentrating on the pitch of her voice when she said his name. It lilted, ever so slightly, to a softer tone. It was almost like a sigh of relief. Fred couldn't pinpoint the moment he'd started paying attention to Snotface in these ways, but he knew somehow that this had been building for a while. He felt a fine sweat break out all over, and panicked. This was not imaginary friend protocol. He'd been given no advice for dealing with feelings like these. Lizzie could feel his trembling through the fingertips that whispered over her palm.

"Fred?"

She saw herself emblazoned within his eyes for just a second before he vanished.

***

**Author's Note: **

I'd like to dedicate this segment to the memory of Michael Jackson…because who hasn't fallen in love to the strains of his music? Rest in Peace, Michael. xxx

***

Lizzie didn't know which would drive her crazy first – Fred, or the heat.

He'd somehow convinced her to break into the public pool long after it had been closed for the day. After growing bored with swimming, he'd then suggested they throw all the candy bars from the vending machines into the pool. _"Imagine the look on the lifeguard's face when he opens up tomorrow and sees the pool full of brown floaties!" _

Halfway through the prank, however, the security guard busted them.

Now they were running with their heads thrown back in laughter, Lizzie clutching her towel and trying not to trip in her sandals.

"Quickly! This way!" Fred shouted, grabbing her arm as they hurtled sideways into an alley.

"Come back, you brat!" the guard yelled. Lizzie wasn't afraid of being caught – she could already hear the overweight man's laboured breathing as he struggled to keep up.

They ran until the alley gave way to another street, and they found themselves on a road busy with partygoers. The bars were open and the music thumping a samba through her chest.

"Let's go in, Snotface!" Fred tugged her towards the entrance of a bar called _Clique_, but they were stopped by a bouncer.

"I don't think so. You're soaking wet," he said with his hand in her face. Lizzie was trying to hold a blank expression as Fred pranced around behind the burly man, making rude gestures and pulling faces. The guard snapped his fingers in front of her. "Hello? You in there? I said _go home_."

Lizzie shrugged and wandered off, repositioning her towel over her shoulders. The warm night breeze felt wonderful on her damp skin; she kicked out of her sandals and skipped along the road in high spirits.

"Snotface, where are you going? The music's that way!" Fred asked.

"I know but I can't go in like this, Fred."

"Well, we're not going home yet."

He spotted the side alley next to the bar that was emitting the noise and pulled her into its shadows. Lizzie watched, perplexed, as he placed his palms and ear against the wall, his face pinched in concentration.

"_What_ are you doing?" Lizzie chuckled.

"It's funny how you can hear music but not feel it," he replied, his eyelids drifting closed. "It's just sort of…there."

Lizzie could feel the music. It was alive with a beat that resounded deep in her heart; the only way to relieve the itch it created was to dance.

"You can't feel that?" she asked curiously, already moving toward him as he shook his head.

He eyed her warily, licking his lips nervously. "You're not going to make me dance, are you Snotface? That's only for grown ups who want to be boring and gross. We're –"

"Dancing is for everyone, Fred," she told him. Her palm entwined with his and tugged it away from the wall. He followed her into the middle of the alley, reluctant but intrigued. "It helps you feel the music."

Her nimble fingers took hold of his and held them in place. The rhythm was swelling into the spaces of her being while she positioned herself against him.

"Follow my feet," she instructed, and Fred pouted but did as he was told. He instantly stepped on her toes and she squeaked in surprise.

"I told you this is rubbish," he said by way of apology.

"It's not! You've only made one move. Come on now; when I step forward, you step back."

They managed three moves before silence fell flat between them. The song had ended. Lizzie felt empty now that the beat had gone, like she'd lost a pulse.

"See? Even the music is telling us to stop," Fred complained.

"Then why aren't you letting go of me?" Lizzie countered. The murmur caused turmoil for someone like Fred, who could not answer his own questions let alone hers. He opened his mouth but the strains of a violin interrupted his answer, followed by words dripping with emotion. Lizzie could hear the smile in Michael Jackson's voice as he sang the first verse of _Fly Away_. She let herself drift with the song, her cheek resting against Fred's chest. Her hands came around his neck like a vine. If he couldn't feel the music on his own, she'd channel it through herself. She could hear his heart beating; it began to match the rhythm of the song.

Fred was trying to think of reasons to pull himself away but found his body unwilling to cooperate. It was becoming a motif in his life, this lack of control around Lizzie. _Lizzie. Elizabeth._ He tucked her name into a special corner of his mind, like it was a sweet for safekeeping. His hands rested in the crook of her back, relishing the coolness of her swimsuit. Her hair was wet: it was causing an imprint on his suit, but he found he didn't mind. In fact he enjoyed the thought that more and more, she was making an impression on him. With his smile resting on the top of her head, Fred let himself relax into Lizzie's body. He was surprised to find an extra beat in his blood. It made him feel sugary and girly and he was even more shocked to learn he liked it. At last, Lizzie had made him see the music. He squeezed her tighter, with one question running through his head. _What is she doing to me?_

Lizzie knew she would look crazy to anybody watching; she knew there were people who might take advantage of a woman alone in an alley, but she wasn't afraid. All she could feel were the words tracing a story into her heart, a net of emotion between her and Fred that nobody else would ever know. Fred was insane, destructive and childish. But she was safe with him, and more herself than at any other time.

And she was starting to realise that maybe she loved him for that.

***

_She couldn't breathe._

_There were hands __**everywhere**__. _

_The room was black._

_She heard the rustling of clothing._

_The chinking of a belt._

_She called for Fred. _

_For her dad. _

_Anyone. _

_She was feeling queasy and cold. _

_She opened her mouth to scream – _

Natalie woke shivering, drenched in sweat.

She pressed her hands over her heart, to keep it from exploding from her chest. The air in the room was stifling; she got up and stood at the open window to gulp at the meagre breeze. The summer heat discouraged any movement from the street outside – it was silent, still, barely breathing. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on everything. There was darkness outside _and_ in. She knew how to escape it. She'd watched her father stand at the bathroom mirror a few nights ago, swallowing tablets.

"_What's the medicine for, Daddy?" she asked, shrinking away from the bottle, afraid he'd ask her to take them too. _

"_They just help me relax, sweetie."_

"_How?"_

"_Well, they help me sleep. So that I'm not too tired to take care of you." _

She'd taken two last night, as she'd seen him do, and had fallen asleep almost instantly. The door creaked when she opened it – a groan of disapproval of her being up and about at such an hour. Wincing with the noise, she crept toward the bathroom silently. Her dad's bedroom door was open enough to allow a glimpse of him in a mound of pillows and sheets, snoring softly. His face was damp with sweat, so she propped the door open further to let more air in, as he'd done for her. The bathroom tiles were cold on the soles of her feet. She wriggled her toes against the chill and stretched up to the sink to find the pills. The bottle was a comforting weight in her hands, the little white tablets chinking against the glass. She screwed the lid off, having discovered how to tackle childproof locks a while ago, and tapped out two pills.

Tonight she'd need more.

She wanted to be so deeply asleep that even her nightmares would crawl into bed and give it a rest. With each extra tablet like a small piece of relief in her palm, she thought more and more of what she was escaping from. The fear urged her to tap out another and another, until half the bottle was gone. They tasted worse than broccoli, but she forced herself to swallow. She imagined them falling into her stomach one by one, chasing out the demons in her head. If Fred wouldn't help her, she'd have to do it herself. She returned to bed, bunched the pillow beneath her cheek, and waited.

***

Mickey had always been of the opinion that he was a good father.

Unlike his ex-wife Monica, he'd never felt the need to second-guess his actions when it came to the child. If Natalie cried, he would run to her. If she skinned her knee on the porch he'd move heaven and earth to set the smile back on her face. Fatherhood had always come naturally to him. It was why that night he woke up tense, as if he could smell the danger in the air even with no physical evidence. It was why his feet led him to his daughter's bedroom. And why his brain could suddenly recall with startling accuracy his long forgotten first aid course, upon finding Natalie face-down in bed and choking on her own vomit.


End file.
